


You Don't Own Me

by toomanycurls



Series: Before the Sun Sets (HP Next-Gen) [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: HPFT, Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, LGBTQ Character, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 06:32:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7673725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomanycurls/pseuds/toomanycurls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scorpius struggles to make his relationship work despite alarming signs that he should leave. </p><p>
  <em>Spoilers for True Romance</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Don't Own Me

It’s hard to admit that the person in the mirror is you. The bruise gracing your face is not an uncommon feature but that is not what gives you pause. You’re unsure if anyone would recognize you as the Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy who moved away from London less than two years ago. While your hair is still blond and height the same, not much else is familiar about your body frame, physique, or state of mind.

Scrutinizing your face, the bags under your eyes are a point of frustration. Looking down your slim torso, the ribs showing are also problematic. You make a note to put jam _and_ butter on your croissant – Corbin does not like it when you are too skinny. Unbidden, the voice of your longtime friend, Rose Weasley, comes to mind. “ _Eat something for yourself, not to make_ him _happy.”_

You shake her aside despite the ring of truth to her words. It’s startling when you realize it has been over a year since you last visited with Rose. You try to remember the when you saw anyone from your life in England and recall the weekend spent with your parents more than six months previous. Your mother has written many times asking when would be a good time to come by but that’s the problem – the good times are becoming increasingly sparse and difficult to predict.

Another voice comes to mind, that of Albus Potter. “ _You need to leave him – this isn’t healthy.”_

“No,” you tell the empty flat. “I love him,” you say mostly to yourself. Tears begin to all without preamble and you know this is not acceptable. It only makes Corbin angrier when you cry.

You retreat to the one place you can let your emotions show without curtailment or retribution. Even in solitude, you don’t like to let unhappiness show where Corbin could see. As soon as you feel the hot water against your skin, a sob escapes your mouth but is muffled by the rush of liquid cascading against the porcelain tub. Your relationship with Corbin started with all the happiness and love you would expect but it has since transgressed into an unrecognizable monster – one which you don’t know how to escape.

Last night’s argument was caused by an inopportune moment of laughter. Your mind had drifted to a funny moment with Albus in potions class and the mirth that escaped came as Corbin was recounting a difficult moment in his day. You knew it would be worse to explain that _Albus_ had been on your mind as Corbin’s jealousy would make his reaction to your slipup all the more painful to bear. So it came to pass, the cycle you’ve grown accustom to:

_Tension – Argument – Assault – Assuage – Comfort_

Numbness is your friend each time you assuage Corbin for his temper and he seeks comfort from your body.  Corbin’s neediness doesn’t allow you to completely disengage through this so you pretend that you’re merely watching instead of experiencing the acts of love that have lost meaning for you.

The first time Corbin’s temper reached a boiling point it almost tore your relationship apart. You remember the weeks apart and decision to reconcile as an end to a difficult moment. The first months you spent living together were bliss until you provoked him into anger once more. On that occasion it was a night he stayed on the couch until seeking you out in the early hours of the morning. You knew then that you should have been less forgiving, less understanding but Corbin had been so sweet in his contrition.

Now there is a provocation almost every week after which Corbin demands instant forgiveness for both of your mistakes. It is much too late to change this pattern between you so you always tread carefully with Corbin and can only hope to avoid his ire for as long as possible.

Feeling marginally better after a shower, you wrap a towel around your waist and decide you’re in definite need of cheering. You go to the loose floorboard in the study and pull out your keepsakes – letters and photos from your friends. The smile that crosses your face at a photo of Albus and his brother sharing a laugh together stretches muscles that aren’t often used. Your most recent letter from Rose amuses you with as you try to picture her with a group mainly of young children and a handful of adults. She manages to make sound it like a tiresome trip but you could tell she did enjoy herself. Closing your eyes you can picture your two closest friends and almost feel their warmth surround you until –

You didn’t hear the pop or footsteps announcing Corbin’s return home but his voice startles you. “What is that?” he asks crisply.

_Tension_

There’s no way to hide the box or upturned board in the old floor. You are sitting in a towel, pouring over letters and pictures of people Corbin would rather you didn’t talk to.

“I was just looking at some old, mostly junk, letters from some friends,” you say, making an attempt at casualness. Before you can shove the memorabilia aside, Corbin has your letters and photos in hand and a scowl spreads over his thin face.

You watch his eyes darting across the pages and lingering on the photos, hoping that this will pass amicability between the two of you. It seems Corbin has read enough when he drops the box with letters and pictures onto the floor. “They’re just old-“

_Argument_

 “Don’t try to make excuses for _this,_ ” Corbin spits as his face turns red. A vein is pulsing in his neck while your own heart seems to slow, causing your face to grow paler. “I can’t have these people – or their ties to you – in our house,” he tells you coldly, pulling a long wand out of his pants pocket.

“ _Incendio_.”

 “No!” you cry, reaching for the aflame treasures you covet above your other possessions. Your wand is in the next room, leaving you with no obvious means to put out the fire. Desperate to do _something_ , you take the towel from your waist and attempt to smother the flames.

The fire pains your hands but does Corbin’s rage pains the rest of you.

“See! You care about these people more than your health. It makes me _sick.”_

“They’re my _friends_ ,” you say for the hundredth time, knowing this is not what Corbin wants to hear but you need to hear the words for yourself more than anything.

_Assault_

The sharp ache in your ribs is accentuated as you vomit on the floor. This signals to Corbin that he has gone too far – at least he backs away from your prone figure and exits the room. You lay on the floor for some time, regaining your breath as tears wash your face. Once your head stops spinning, you prop yourself up and survey the damage.

All of the letters are in ashen ruin and only fragments of the photos remain. You catch a glimpse of Albus, looking pensive in an older photo. It’s as if his concern in the photo is for you and his silent voice echoes, _“This is abuse, Scorp.”_ For the first time you agree with the declaration and know it has been true for longer than you’d like to admit.

After a while, you gather the courage to leave the room and quickly dress so you are decently covered. Corbin is waiting for you at the dining room table with hot tea and biscuits. You’d rather have a rest but know he will be further angered if you snub his kind gesture.

_Assuage_

You sip on the tea for minutes before deciding to break the silence. “I like this tea,” comes out in a meek voice. Corbin sniffs loudly and you look into his face for the first time in minutes.

“I wish you wouldn’t push me like you do,” he says weepily. You see the tears that brim his strikingly blue eyes and feel a poke of remorse. Corbin squeezes your hand and you can feel the numbness set in. Your instinct is to pull away but instead you smile.

Knowing he expects you to say something comforting, you bite into a biscuit and chew it slowly. You’re tired and don’t want to find false words of support for his temper. When the right words come to mind, you say them with as much conviction as you can muster. “I just didn’t think…” Your words end there despite the desire to finish with ‘ _that my friends would be such an issue.’_

The smile on Corbin’s face tells you he is satisfied with your attempted apology. He takes your silence as a guilty heart and pulls you close to him. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he says kissing your cheek while his hand rests comfortably on your thigh. Your stomach churns and you take a deep breath as the kisses continue.

_Comfort_

The word no never managed to leave your lips, even when it was loud in your head. You recall the sweetness in his actions and feel an icy cold in your stomach. How can the man you love contain such duality? You fell in love with the sweet tenderness but live with aggressive moodiness most of the time. You stay in bed while Corbin slips his robes on with a contented look on his face.

Feeling returns to you as the familiar vileness threatens to consume you. It’s difficult to smile as Corbin sits on the edge of the bed and touches your bare skin. “I’m glad we could make up,” he tells you in a quiet voice as his finger traces a fresh bruise on your ribs. “You’re too good to me,” Corbin says with true conviction. No words come but Corbin does not seem to expect you to respond to his comment. Instead he leaves you alone and returns to work – you hope he has a late evening in the office.

You’ve never broken a rib before but are pretty sure there are at least two fractured now. Daintily taking the _Healer’s Guide to Home Remedy_ from the bedside table, you flip to the section on minor breaks. It only takes few moments before you’re able to diagnose the probable injury and rummage through your bathroom cabinet for the right potion. 

As you dab a salve on the bruises, a thought occurs to you. It’s a risky thought and an even more dangerous action but you fear the consequences of your relationship more than those of ending it. You hurry through your healing routine and find parchment and a quill. Writing the words takes less time than you think but then you realize your mind has been bringing this action about for some time.

It’s too risky to use your owl – Corbin will notice the bird’s absence – so you rush to the closest post office and send your letter through the muggle mail. You would consider the postal shop that rents owls but that would take you close to Corbin’s work and word might get back to him. It doesn’t matter if it takes extra time, you know you can persevere a while longer.

\---

A blank postcard arrives nearly two weeks later with a glossy photo of an exotic landscape. It’s not addressed to anyone, just the flat. You know it is a message from Albus – he will be there for you. You begin to arrange your belongings in subtly accessible areas of the flat and count each passing day. Corbin, normally keenly aware of changes in behavior from you, does not see your preparations to leave - Instead he is glad to see you have more energy and are sprucing up the flat.

When the day arrives you feel relief when Corbin leaves for a busy day at work. You know it will be at least four hours until he returns, by which time you’ll be gone from Paris. All your preparation pays off as you are able to pack the most important of your possessions straight off. A knock at the door makes you jump and it is a moment before you realize Corbin wouldn’t knock before entering.

As the door opens and Albus walks in with Rose, to your delight, and Harry, to your surprise, a feeling of relief fills your heart. Usually Albus and Rose would greet you with a smile but you can tell the frowns on their faces are out of concern. Forgoing a greeting, Rose started off with, “What do we need to pack?” as she pulled out her wand, clearly ready to work.

You point out the potions, books, and clothes to your friends and watch as they pack at top speed. You look towards the familiar visage of Harry Potter and feel a loss for words. He looks you over with an expression of thoughtful of concern before saying, “I’ve spoken with _la gendarmerie_ and your assets in France have been frozen until you’re able to sort them out from London. Many cases like this end with one party losing their financial security.” You’re glad that Harry the auror is there instead of Harry your friend’s dad.

“Thank you, Mr. Potter,” is all you say before the door is abruptly pushed open, revealing Corbin.

“What the _hell_ is going on?” he asks you without looking at the others in your flat.

Albus comes out of nowhere and steps between the two of you. “Scorpius is moving out, you abusive fuck,” he seethes. The gentle pull on your arm is Albus putting distance between you and a now irate Corbin.

“I knew it would be _you_ ,” Corbin accuses with acid in his voice. “One of you who steals Scorpius from me.”

Rose is red in the face when she speaks up from across the room. “We’re not stealing him - Scorpius isn’t property. He _asked_ us to be here.”

“You can’t take him!” Corbin shouts, taking his wand out. No one expects this as a flash of bright light hits you and the flat fades to black.

All you can see around you is a white blur and sound is muffled. You try to sit up but the task is too difficult. A soothing voice reaches you and a long-forgotten peacefulness settles over you like a warm blanket. “Mum?” you mumble through the dryness in your mouth.

Her voice clearer, you hear, “It’s me, Scorpius. Don’t you worry – I’m here to take care of you.” You drift off and don’t wake for several more hours.

“What do you mean, ‘ _not prosecutable’_?” your father’s voice carries into the room. “That scum hurt my son and now you’re telling me he’s going to get away with it?” There’s a pause before his voice picks up again. “That’s not good enough, Potter. What if it were your boy in there?”

Seeing that your eyes are open, Albus pulls the door shut which effectively drowns out the argument going on outside. “How are you feeling, Scorp?” he asks quietly.

“Dunno…” You ache everywhere and it feels as if your thoughts are foggy. “Where am I?” you ask suddenly.

“St. Mungo’s,” Albus supplies. “Dad did a number to subdue Corbin and we were able to transport you here. Rose went with Brandon to finish getting your stuff – we wanted an auror there in case something else happened,” he explains quickly.

You haven’t seen Albus look this rattled and feel there is more to the story. “Where is Corbin?” you ask as panic begins to work its way through your thoughts.

“He was in custody but they let him go due to a clerical error,” Albus tells you with an angry expression on his face. “Dad’s furious with the French ministry but they don’t really see it as their business to mediate relationships.” Albus pauses a moment before adding, “They didn’t see your bruises and fractures.” He looks away for a moment, tears swimming in his green eyes. “Why didn’t you leave earlier?”

You hear the concern in his tone but also the note of accusation and you feel compelled to defend yourself and Corbin. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” you start with false bravado.

“Don’t pretend,” Albus cuts you off coolly. “The healers were scrambling to figure out what was wrong with you – they weren’t familiar with the spell he used. 13 fractures? Most of them healed but the abrasions were still evident.”

Tears fall freely and you shake your head. “I tried so hard, Al,” you try to explain. “I was so afraid and was just trying to get through each day. You can’t imagine what it was like.”

Albus hangs his head and takes a shaky breath. “You’re right,” he says, holding your hand. “I can’t imagine what I’d do...” Albus’ voice trailed off. Looking up and meeting your eyes, he continues, “I’m proud that you asked for help.”

You don’t know what to say to this so you reach for another topic, one that will be less contentious. “How did you convince Rose to go with you?” you ask with a smile curving your lips.

“Convince? She was home when I talked to Dad and we couldn’t make her stay behind,” Albus says with a short laugh.

The almost foreign noise of laughter leaves your mouth and just for a moment you feel like yourself. Embracing that feeling, you sit up a little as the door opens and your parents walk in. Albus gives them his seat next to your bed and you know you’re in the right place – safe with your friends and family. Part of you know it will be a long road to physical recovery and a longer one until you’re emotionally better but you won’t have to make it alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Hardest one-shot ever. I hope that if anyone reading this is in the same situation that they reach out to a local domestic abuse shelter and find a way out. The theme in this were horrible to write about and would be worse to live through. Please know that you are not alone and there is help available for you. 
> 
> When I introduced Corbin in True Romance I didn’t expect him to be so dark. This isn’t a relationship I’d wish on anyone and am glad to have not experienced.


End file.
